


this is right where it begins

by orphan_account



Series: Sugar Daddy AU [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Liam, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry hides his smirk behind a weak but determined glare. “Stop trying to change the subject. You fucked an intern.”</p><p>Zayn chokes on air. “I did not!”</p><p>“You <em>want</em> to fuck an intern,” Harry amends.</p><p>“I just want to get to know him,” Zayn mumbles, picking up a fry and nibbling on it halfheartedly.</p><p>“Before or after you fuck him?”</p><p>“<em>Harry</em>.”</p><p>or; liam is an intern, zayn is his boss, and harry isn't the secretary</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is right where it begins

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to [sweater weather](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2663009) but they can be read separately 
> 
> title from Is There Somwhere by Halsey

“Are you fucking your secretary?”

“Harry isn’t my secretary,” Zayn doesn’t bother to look up as he answers. “And no,” he adds before Louis  can go on.

He hears rather than sees Louis slide his way over to the shiny white couch set up against the wall. “Thank goodness,” Louis sighs as he plops down on his back. “Honestly, you not getting laid is a blessing. It’d be heartbreaking for me to have to tell you that your lover is cheating on you.”

“With Niall?” Zayn wonders distractedly, fingers and eyes heavily preoccupied with the work in front of him.

“And me,” Louis tacks on nonchalantly. He glances at his friend, eyes narrowing when he finds him still busy. “At the same time.” Nothing. “In your office.” Not even a twitch. “On your desk.”

Zayn hums. Louis throws a pillow at his face.

“What the f-”

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Louis sighs at Zayn, like he’s the one in the wrong.

Zayn looks between his spreadsheet and the couch, a crease forming between his brows. “It kinda pays the bills, bro.”

Louis gives him a deadpan look. “Have you forgotten what tomorrow is?”

“Tuesday?”

“Tues- _dude,_ it’s the first day for the new batch of interns!”

Zayn blinks. “And?”

Louis sighs. “Honestly, fifteen years in this business and you still need a translator; interns equal menial work lackeys, ergo, interns equal taking the day off early and two hour lunch breaks.”

Zayn snorts. “I can’t believe you wormed _ergo_ into a sentence. And it’s not like I’d ever trust some bambi-eyed college kid to do my work right.”

“I don’t think you’re giving them their due credit.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

Louis waves him off, his interest in the matter obviously lost as he walks towards the door. “Don’t be too hard on them, yea?” he calls over his shoulder. “Not all of them will be completely useless.”

*

They’re all completely useless.

It’s not even noon and Zayn’s eye is already twitching something awful. The day starts out well enough, but begins its descent downhill the moment he steps into the building. Some squirrelly redhead bumps into him on the way to the elevator and spills his coffee all down the front of Zayn’s shirt. Zayn shoos the kid away with an irritated wave of his hand when he starts blubbering out apologies.

“Don’t,” Zayn seethes at Harry, who’s clucking his tongue.

“You didn’t have to be so short with him. Poor kid’s probably scarred for life.”

“Good,” Zayn says shortly, slamming his tragically empty coffee cup on Harry’s counter stomps away.

“So I’ll just inform your nine o’clock that you’ll be running a little late?” Harry shouts after him.

The elevator is blessedly empty when Zayn storms in. He pulls the wet fabric of his dress shirt away from his chest, hissing when he feels the air cool the skin that’s been burned raw. He closes his eyes and counts backwards until the doors ding open and he’s unceremoniously thrusted back into the whirl and rush of the workday.

He doesn’t bother weaving in and out of the throngs of rushing workers, just keeps a somber look on his face and lets them fall over one another in order to get out of his way. The heavy wood door of his office refuses to swing open the way his angry entrance he feels is appropriate, so he makes sure to hit the buttons of his land line extra hard, gripping the receiver like he wants to throttle it.

“Making personal calls at work?” Louis muses from the other side of Zayn’s desk, where he’s got his feet propped up and his cellphone in his hand. “I thought your rebellious streak ended with the tattoo sleeve.”

Zayn ignores him for the amount of time it takes for the person on the other end to pick up.

“Horan’s House of Whores, how can I be of service to you this fine morning?”

“How have you not been fired yet?” Zayn mutters into the receiver, irritation deflating slightly at the sound of Niall’s familiar tone.

“I’m the token Irish guy,” Niall explains simply.

Zayn sighs. “I need you to run to my place and grab me an extra shirt,” he grimaces, eyeing the stain covering his torso. The coffee is drying quickly, making Zayn’s skin feel sticky and gross.

“Do I look like your secretary? Get Harry to do it.”

“Harry isn’t my secretary,” Zayn repeats for the second time in two days. Honestly.

“Even if I want to take time out of my very busy, very important schedule, I can’t. I’ve got a consult in twenty.”

Zayn can feel the blood rushing in his ears again, is about to drop to the floor and hide under his desk until the day releases his nuts from its vice grip, when Niall continues. “But I’ll send an intern. ‘Cause that’s something I can do now. Maybe I’ll have them go on a coffee run on the way. Or pickup my dry cleaning. No, wait. I don’t have any dry cleaning. I’ll make one of them get me some dry cleaning. Maybe do a little jig, entertain the clients. Is this what they call a power trip?”

Zayn hangs up on him.

[*]

There’s a knock on his door about ten minutes later and Zayn is ready to be impressed by whatever minion Niall had chosen to do his bidding because it’s at least a five minute drive to Zayn’s apartment, even without taking the morning traffic into account.

He calls for them to enter, and from there is when things start to really torpedo further downhill.

The intern that had knocked on Zayn’s door isn’t, in fact, the one who was sent to his home. From what Zayn can gather through his bumbling, stuttering mess of an introduction is that Louis sent him to deliver last week’s reports as well as a replacement coffee.

Zayn takes the file and waves a dismissive hand at the boy, who’s still standing in front of Zayn’s desk holding the coffee cup like a sacrifice and looking helpless. “Just sit it on that table over there,” he orders, jerking a thumb in the direction of the small side table next to the couch. “Please,” he stresses kindly when he sees the kid’s dejected expression caused by Zayn’s tone.

Zayn opens the file and bites back a groan of annoyance. The kid had brought him this week’s projections instead of last week’s results, something Zayn isn’t even responsible for. On top of that, Zayn notices that what seems to be the full report is actually just twenty copies of the first page, rendering the entire file completely useless anyway. The colored tab on the folder is wrong too and everything is just terrible.

Completely. Useless.

The intern must not be very placated by Zayn’s tacked on niceties, because the dude is suddenly tripping over his own feet, yelping as he goes down and nabbing Zayn’s attention.  

The next couple of seconds go by in slow motion:

The coffee cup goes airborne and lands perfectly right side up on the center couch cushion tilting and tottering dangerously for all of three seconds before it tips over, the impact making the top pop off and the liquid inside spill out and seep into the pristine, white furniture. The cup itself rolls off the cushion and onto the floor, landing beside the fallen intern, who looks like he wished he’d used the coffee to drown himself.

At least Zayn wasn’t wrong about being impressed.

“I-” the intern starts, before Zayn swiftly cuts him off.

“No.”

“But I-”

“Don’t. Just. Don’t.”

The boy, who couldn’t be older than twenty-two, adopts wide eyes and lets out another round of stammering, before Zayn bluntly tells him to leave and get back to work.

The poor guy clambers to his feet and stumbles towards the door, which opens before he gets there, making it easier for him to make his exit.

Zayn hardly notices the other person standing there, the one who opened the door for his predecessor.

“Uh-”

“Now is really not the best time,” Zayn says shortly, keeping his hands and eyes busy with rearranging the files on his desk so he won’t have to look at the absolute travesty his couch has become.

“Um. Okay. What time do you want me and your clean clothes to come back, then?”

Zayn’s eyes snap up and are immediately assaulted with a vision he wasn’t expecting; the kid’s got ridiculously boyish curls sat atop his head and a horrifically juvenile outfit of yellow plaid and khaki. His calmness would be convincing, if it weren’t for the underlying buzz of nerves Zayn’s become accustomed to glossing over these past few years.

The boy clears his throat, making Zayn realize he went from looking to staring about thirty seconds ago. He shakes his head and motions to the bundle in the boy’s hand.  “Uh.” Smooth.

“Are you okay, sir?”

Zayn internally smacks himself and rushes to pull his shit together. “Yea, I’m. You can just uh, lay it on there chair, right there, thanks.”

The boy gives a quick nod and does what’s asked of him, draping the articles of clean clothing from Zayn’s home closet over the back of his office chair. Zayn dutifully keeps his eyes trained on his desk, although remaining hyper aware of the younger man’s presence.

The intern turns to leave, but hesitates and faces Zayn again. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, tone curiously concerned for being aimed towards someone he doesn’t know.

Zayn’s eyes flicker over to his soiled couch and frowns. “Just one of those days, you know?”

The other nods slightly, eyes drifting on the same path as Zayn’s, finding the disaster area. “Oh,” he gasps, then shakes his head and turns his gaze back to the man. Zayn’s still avoiding eye contact, and the boy takes it as a cue to leave. He starts backing away, mouth twisted like he’s trying to trap words that are threatening to come out.

He fails. “Hey,” he calls, Zayn instinctively giving him his attention again. “At least there’s a bright side to all of this.”

Zayn raises a pointed brow and asks, “Which is?”

“That was a really ugly couch.”

The boy leaves, closing the heavy door behind him and leaving no one to hear Zayn’s startled laughter.

[*]

“It’s like watching the discovery channel,” Louis comments wondrously, gaping at the scene before them.

Zayn nods in distracted but wholehearted agreement, one part fascinated and one part abhorred at how the interns are interacting with one another. There a truly dishonorable amount of awkward, embarrassed flirting going on in the lunch line, the likes of which neither of them have seen since high school.

It’s a mystery to everyone why Zayn and Louis still insist on eating lunch in the common area. Building a company from the ground up can do something to a person, erode their humanity a bit, inflate their ego. And sure, Louis gets a kick out of having people he doesn’t like address him as _CEO Tomlinson_ , and Zayn doesn’t mind throwing a little of his hard earned fortune around on himself and his family, but all in all the pair have remained remarkably grounded.

The sight of their bosses in such close, mundane quarters, eating pudding and drinking soda from paper cups still entrances the employees of Bus1, but the constant staring stopped a while ago. The way they see it, they’re resilient to jadedness more than others in their position, which is beneficial for everyone involved.

“Hey,” Louis grabs his attention with a light swat to the arm, making Zayn follow his line of sight to where two guys are making goggles out of their empty jello cups, “what d’ya think? Frat bros or burnouts?”

Zayn hums, sipping the last of his water. “Normally I’d place my bet on burnouts, you know this.”

“Of course,” Louis affirms.

“But look at their clothes, man. I bet their closets could give Harry’s a run for his money.”

“Trust fund babies,” Louis says, his face set in mild distaste.

“Boys in men’s clothing,” Zayn adds, trailing off when a horrid clash of plaid and khakis catches his eye. He only half listens to Louis’ rant about silver spoons and the so called _real world_. Most of his attention is being paid to the intern from this morning.

Juvenile fashion sense aside, the boy is fucking beautiful. The smile he’s throwing at the elderly lady behind the cash register is making his eyes go adorably squinty and Zayn can see the white flash of his teeth behind petal pink lips from where he’s sitting. Zayn’s eyes stalk the expanse of the boy’s flannel covered back as he walks further away to join a table of rowdy interns. It bothers Zayn, how the contrast between the boy and his peers is both stark and subtle. Like he fits in, but only just so. It makes Zayn want to take him somewhere far far away where that precarious balance is never in danger of tipping.

Zayn might be losing it.

His possible breakdown is brought to a halt when Niall crashes into his side as he attempts to scooch into the seat next to him.

“Good afternoon my fellow adults,” he says, struggling with a box of animal crackers. Zayn takes it from him, sliding a finger under the glued flap and popping it open. He takes out the shiny plastic bag and rips it open, handing the now freed cookies to his friend.

“Thanks, dad,” Niall says before he bites the head off a giraffe.

“Don’t call me that,” Zayn says immediately, his mind once again wandering to the boy across the room.

“Okay, mom,” Niall amends, and suddenly Zayn’s struck with a realization.

“Niall,” he says, trying to maintain his signature nonchalance, “you’re in charge of the interns, right?”

Niall snorts. “So _that’s_ what my Intern Overseer title is for?” Zayn gives him a look. Niall mimics him.

“So you like...know all of them?” Zayn asks slowly, avoiding Louis’s now interested gaze.

Niall shrugs. “Mostly just their names, considering it’s their first day and all.”

Zayn nods understandingly. “So, uh. What are they?”

“Human, presumably. Most of them anyway.”

“Their names, Niall. I mean what are their names.”

Both Louis and Niall stare at him.

“What’s with the sudden interest in the interns, Malik?” Louis probes, voice viciously teasing.

Zayn rolls his eyes, hoping his face isn’t giving away as much as it feels like it is. “Just figured I’d get to know the people who’re working with me,” he mumbles.

“Working _for_ you,” Louis corrects.

Zayn twiddles with his fork, feeling the way Niall is looking at him. The other man gives in, sighing before beginning to list off the identities he remembers, indicating which name belongs to which body with a point of his finger.

“That one’s George, that’s Mark, over there’s Skylar-” Louis laughs, “Joe, Phillip- not Phil, _Phillip,_ Harrison, Prudence-” Louis laughs again, “Waldo- seriously Lou, it’s not that funny- Garfield-”

Louis’s laughter uproars, causing heads to turn their way, including those at the table Zayn had been waiting for Niall to get to. Zayn’s eyes lock onto the boy’s from earlier like they’re a pair of fucking magnets. The boy flushes and turns away, head ducked and shoulders tense.

Zayn interrupts Louis’s laughter and Niall’s nagging. “What about them over there?” he asks, nodding his head in the general direction of the boy’s table.

Niall squints, focusing the group into view whilst fending off Louis’s hands, which are wandering underneath the table. “Uh, that one in the blue looks like Danny, the redhead is Amelia, the bro with the spoon hanging off his nose is Jason, the one with his back to us is Liam-”

“Liam what?”

Niall startles. “Liam Payne,” he answers slowly.

Zayn stares at this _Liam’s_ back, nodding solemnly and mouthing the name silently, enchanted with the way his lips form the words.

Both Niall and Louis are looking at him oddly again. They exchange a suspicious look with each other, communicating with their eyes, both asking each other the same question; _what the hell?_

*

Liam would like to say that he’s a realist; someone who doesn’t get carried away with self-concocted notions. But at heart, Liam Payne is an optimist.

And it’s his damn penchant for looking on the bright side of things that’s going to make him lose this internship. This wonderful, spectacular, dream of an internship that he was lucky to even be able to apply for in the first place.

Bus1 Records and Productions™ is the holy ground of the music industry. Musicians, producers, technicians- everyone flocks to it, trying to find salvation.

Music is Liam’s faith and he’s here to study. To worship.

Not to pant after his boss.

His boss, Liam steadfastly reminds himself, that he’s met all of one time, and who probably couldn’t pick Liam out of a two person line up.

He doesn’t need this distraction, honestly. He’s still keyed up from his first (and probably last) face to face meeting with Mr Malik. The whole l _et our eyes meet from across the room so I can scorch your soul_  thing during lunch wasn’t much help.

Liam shakes himself and heads to the intern ward, which is basically a very large hallway with tiny, sterile office stations set up in two rows.

He notices that something is out of place before he even gets to his cubicle.

Sat atop one of the many manila folders he’s been passed throughout the day is a shiny magazine with the title _Stylish Spaces_ written in tasteful, elegant letters. The cover picture is of an open spaced corporate office, not dissimilar to the ones on the upper floors at Bus1, lavishly furnished in modern, monochrome furnishings.

Liam glances around. For what, he’s not sure. Maybe someone walking about scratching their head and wondering aloud as to where the heck their on hand interior design catalog got to.

When no such character catches his eye, Liam turns his attention back to the magazine. It’s smooth and heavy and everything he’s not used to a magazine being. He runs a thumb over the flat side of the spine, and decides to succumb to his curiosity. Sure, he probably couldn’t afford a throw pillow from this place, but what’s the harm in looking?

He flips open the front cover and is surprised to find a bright green sticky note stuck to the ad on the first page.

_need to find a replacement, and i figured you’ve got a better eye for this than me_

_p.s: you were right about that couch. think we’ll consider it a mercy killing :)_

_-Zayn_

Liam’s first thought after reading the note shouldn’t be _Zayn Malik wrote me a note with a smiley face he uses emoticons and I find that approximately_ very _adorable_ , but it is. His first thought really should be along the lines of _my boss just made me to be his interior decorator and this is_ not _what I signed up for_.

He should be insulted, not endeared.

And yet here was firm, factual proof that Zayn Malik is in fact human and not some spiritual entity sent to earth because the universe was in need of enlightenment.

Endeared it is.

*

_“Zayn.”_

Harry’s admonishing tone has Zayn wincing, basket of fries left untouched in front of him, his appetite spoiled.

“It’s not as bad as it seems, honestly,” Zayn tries in his defense.

“It’s sexual harassment!” Harry yells into the air of the thankfully empty bar. “He could press charges, and then where would you be? Where would _I_  be? Secretaries aren’t exactly in high demand, Zayn. Don’t you make me go back to potting plants and shit. I’ve become accustomed to a certain lifestyle and I don’t plan on changing that.”

“You’re not my secretary,” Zayn mumbles. “And I just asked him for some help. It’s not like I propositioned him. I didn’t leer and lure him into the bathroom for a midday romp,” he adds, giving the other man a pointed look.

“Okay, first of all? There was no leering of any kind. And second, it was nine in the morning in the copy room, not midday in the bathroom. We have standards.”

“Have you three christened the entire building, or just the one floor?”

Harry hides his smirk behind a weak but determined glare. “Stop trying to change the subject. You fucked an intern.”

Zayn chokes on air. “I did not!”

“You _want_ to fuck an intern,” Harry amends.

“I just want to get to know him,” Zayn mumbles, picking up a fry and nibbling on it halfheartedly.

“Before or after you fuck him?”

_“Harry.”_

“What did the note even say?” Harry changes directions.

Zayn sighs, tossing his half finished fry back into the basket. “I just asked if he could, like, pick out a new couch?”

“That’s it?” Harry raises a skeptical brow.

“There may have been a...” Zayn trails off.

“A what?”

“...a smiley face?”

“Oh my _god.”_

“It seemed natural to put it there!” Zayn cries.

Harry scrubs a hand over his face. “He’s gonna think you’re either insane or perverted, and  honestly? I don’t know which is worse.” Harry notices Zayn’s dejected, scolded expression and sighs. “What is it about this kid that’s got you so torn up anyway?”

“Nothin’,” Zayn denies quickly. Too quickly.

Harry returns the pointed look he received earlier. “Zayn, I’ve known you since _I_ was an intern. You never paid any of them an ounce of attention other than when you absolutely had to.”

Zayn sighs, defeated. He rubs his fingers across his chin, rewinding the day and going over what can’t have been more than a collective three minutes of interaction with one Liam Payne. “It’s just- _he’s_ just. I dunno.”

Harry reaches across the table and pats Zayn’s hand sympathetically, nodding in kind. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Thanks,” Zayn says dumbly.

“But in the mean time,” Harry continues, “no more creepy notes on couch catalogs. That was weird even for you.”

“I-” Zayn starts.

“Nu uh, man, there’s literally no coming back from that. Also, please try to remember that you’re his boss.”

“I know that!” Zayn guffaws. “It’s not like I’m trying to take advantage of our positions.”

Harry twists his mouth before shaking his head shortly. “Too easy. I’m gonna let that one go. But seriously, bro, I know you’re not the type to intentionally do something like that, but that’s probably what it’s going to look like regardless. Just be careful, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn agrees sullenly.

*

Zayn had talked about his recent dilemmas with Harry for a reason. It isn’t because what insight Harry has to offer is some special type of profound or unusually helpful, it’s because he couldn’t talk about it with Louis or Niall and survive. Louis would kill him and he’d be dead. Killed to death. Niall would laugh at him.

He should’ve known though, that Harry’d squeal. He’s never been very strong when it comes to keeping things from Louis.

Zayn walks into his office on Wednesday morning with circles under his eyes and a full cup of blessedly unspilled coffee in his hand. He nearly reenacts yesterday’s scene when Louis attacks him with a pillow to the head.

He wobbles for a second before regaining his footing and finding Louis standing in front of Zayn’s desk with his hands on his hips and an evil grin on his face.

“ _Just figured I’d get to know the people who’re working with me_ ,” Louis mocks.

Zayn stares down at the pillow by his foot, blinking slowly. He lifts his sleepy gaze to meet Louis’s bright one, before yawning soundly and trudging a path to his desk, walking a wide berth around his best friend.

Louis watches him like a tiny but vicious bird of prey with his eyes sharp like talons. He slinks closer to Zayn’s desk, continuing to stare at the top of Zayn’s bowed head.

It goes on like this for a few minutes, Zayn pretending to shuffle papers while Louis glares a hole into his cranium before Zayn heaves a sigh and lowers himself into his chair.

“Don’t make a big deal out of this,” he pleads, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Make a big deal out of what?” Louis asks faux innocently. “The fact that my best friend, the oh so cool and mysterious Zayn Malik, has a _crush?”_

“‘S not a crush,” Zayn mumbles, though Louis doesn’t even seem to hear him.

“You have a crush on a _schoolboy_ and you want me to _not_ make a big deal out of it!?”

“He’s in college!”

“You’re old enough to be teaching at college!” Louis reminds him with a delighted cackle.

“How long before you stop enjoying this so much?" Zayn asks, secretly wondering how awkward of a position the security guards would be in if one boss ordered the removal of the other boss.

“Never,” Louis answers, his impish smile honest to god frightening.

“I’ll give Harry and Niall the entire weekend off _and_ I’ll go to all your meetings if you just let this one go,” Zayn pleads helplessly.

“Nope,” Louis pops.

“Why?” Zayn whines.

Louis shrugs. “Consider it payback for all the shit you gave me when I first started with the boys.”

Zayn winces and leans back in his chair. “To be fair, Harry looked a lot closer to twenty-one than twenty-three.”

Louis’s smirk sharpens further and he puts his hands on top of Zayn’s desk, leaning forward. “Liam Payne is nineteen.”

“What.”

“I had Niall pull his file up after H told me. He turns twenty in August.”

Zayn stares at his smiling best friend with his jaw dropped and his eyes wide. “Oh my god,” he whispers.

“I know.”

“Oh my _god._ ”

“I _know._ ”

“I have a crush on a teenager.”

“Uh huh.”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Louis pulls a pack a of cigarettes from his pocket taps it against his palm before sliding one out and lighting it. “I believe,” he exhales through a column of smoke, “it’s a condition called Lecherous Oldis Manus. Incurable, unfortunately.”

“But,” Zayn says suddenly, “I thought we only offer internships to seniors?”

Louis shakes his head, taking his hands off Zayn’s desk and plopping down in one of the chairs in front of it. “Special offers were made to draw in a bigger crowd.”

Zayn sighs morbidly and lets his head fall on his desk with a dull thud. He ignores both the slight ache of his forehead and Louis’s laughter, attention only brought back to this cruel reality when there’s a knock at his office door.

Louis tones down his laughter to a giggle long enough to let Zayn’s order of _come in_ to be heard, and stops completely when they see who comes in.

Liam Payne stands there, halfway in the room, looking between the two men uncertainly. “Um. I can just come back later,” he says already trying to slither back out.

“No need,” Louis nearly shouts, halting the teenager in his tracks. Liam peers back into the room as Louis stubs out his cigarette and strides over to the door, putting on his _I’m the boss_ persona. He claps Liam on the shoulder and whispers something in his ear that makes the boy turn red before strutting out of Zayn’s office.

Zayn glares after his partner, hoping he trips and lands on something hard.

Liam shuffles into the office, hands hidden behind his back. He’s wearing another plaid shirt, blue this time, tucked neatly into a pair of chinos, his hair seemingly windswept and his soft looking cheeks still stained red and Zayn wants to _cry._

Instead, he asks, “What’s up?” in a voice that’s mostly calm, which he’ll consider a win.

Liam grins sheepishly and brings the catalog Zayn had (creepily) loaned him out from behind his back.

Zayn’s breath catches and he swears he can feel his heart nervously fluttering in his throat. _Fuck,_ he thinks. _This is it. This is how he rejects me. Returning my well intentioned albeit a little creepy offering. God, look at that smile. He’s being so_ nice _about it, ending what we have before we even have it. At least I’ll have material for a new song-_

“I didn’t have any sticky notes, so I dog eared the page.”

What.

“What?”

Liam cocks his head like an honest to god puppy and Zayn feels the urge to cry _again._

“Sh- should I not have? I know it’s a little irresponsible but I was at home when I found like, the perfect piece and I don’t really keep office supplies in my kitchen- well, kitchenette, really, and it was like, instinctual? I’m really sorry and I’ll pay for a new copy right away although I’m not sure where I’d get it because I’m pretty positive it’s the first time I’ve seen-”

Zayn starts to laugh, bringing a stop to Liam’s rambling and once he’s pulled himself together he’ll apologize for rudely interrupting the boy.

Once his laughing trails off, Zayn notices Liam shuffling awkwardly, biting his lip. Terrific, now he’s gone and made the boy uncomfortable.

“No, no,” Zayn reassures him quickly after realizing his mistake. “It’s okay, I just thought- well, yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

Liam’s grin turns more sincere and Zayn relaxes. He scoots forward shyly and reaches across Zayn’s desk, offering him the magazine. Zayn takes it slowly, refusing to let his mind scold him for letting his hand linger.

The boy bites his lip again and Zayn’s gotta swallow down the offer to do that for him. He glances at Zayn from under his eyelashes, look pretty and soft and he’s moving away, retracting from Zayn’s contact and making his way towards the door.

It’s when the door closes behind him and Zayn’s left alone does he finally accept that he’s undeniably, inexcusably screwed.

*

There are parts of his job that Zayn loves, and there are parts that he dreads. No day is complete without a conflicting mixture of the two, one usually outweighing the other.

The dreadful parts claim this day.

It’s dreary and grey outside, the rain a constant beat on Zayn’s windows. He sighs heavily after sending the last email of the day and decides to forgo the head start he was planning to make on the notes for tomorrow’s meetings and call it a night.

His driver’s got a soft, old timey tune playing on the radio and it makes Zayn smile, turning to rest his forehead on the cool glass of the window. A blurry flash of plaid catches his eye and he tells the driver to slow down.

He rolls down the window to see better. It’s been over a week since their last face to face encounter, but Zayn’d recognize the vision of one Liam Payne anywhere by now. The boy is walking along the sidewalk with his head down and his arms crossed over his chest, his golden brown hair darkened with rain.

“Need a ride?” Zayn shouts to be heard over the sound of the downpour.

Liam hears him, jerking his head up and squinting, eyes going wide when he realizes who it is. “D- don’t worry about it,” he insists loudly, teeth already starting to chatter.

“I’m not worried about _it,_ I’m worried about _you,”_ Zayn says before he can stop himself.

Liam bites his lip and shakes his head. “It’s fine, really, campus isn’t that far away. It’s only rain, I’ll be alright.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and gets out of the parked car, stepping into the rain and over to a stunned Liam. He grabs him by the wrist and tugs him into the back seat, telling his ever so patient driver to make a detour past the college.

“Thank you, sir,” Liam mumbles, sniffling against his runny nose.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zayn repeats sincerely, ignoring the heat the title stirs in him and focusing on the way his reply makes Liam smile. He has to turn towards the window to hide a grin of his own.

“I- _achoo!”_ Liam sneezes, pausing for a quick beat before sneezing a second time, then a third.

“What were you thinking, walking home in that kind of weather?” he chides.

The boy flushes, wringing his soaked shirt in his hands and gnawing on his damn lip again. “Forgot cab fare,” he explains, sounding properly scolded.

Zayn nods, not pushing the subject any further. “You alright, though?” he asks quietly, resisting the urge to reach out for him.

Liam nods, rubbing at his red nose, murmuring another round of thanks.

The ride to Liam’s dorm is longer than what the boy insisted it was. Zayn walks him through the rain to the safety of the overhang, the ping of water on metal obnoxiously loud.

“Thanks again,” Liam yells over the noise, giving Zayn that sweet smile before walking backwards towards the doors and heading inside.

Zayn sighs and runs back out to the car, grateful for his driver’s unquestioning manner.

Another week passes, and Zayn finds himself running into Liam more and more often. They still don’t talk much. It’s mostly just exchanged pleasantries in the hallways and loaded but undiscussed looks from across the room. They’ve also settled into a routine of taking the elevator together in the morning, which Zayn finds himself looking forward to every day, despite himself.

*

He waves good morning to Harry as he passes and fast walks to the elevator. Liam’s already there, foot stuck in front of the door to keep it from closing. He’s smiling and Zayn swears it’s like a second sunrise.

They exchange docile _good morning_ s and _how are you doing today_ s as the doors slide shut, denying anyone else access to their little world, if only for a minute.

Liam’s in the middle of recounting his encounter with a dog in the park this morning when the cart jolts and then stops, the combined hum of the machines and the tinkle of crappy elevator music they’ve been accustomed to cuts out, leaving them in an eery silence.

“What the hell,” Zayn says to no one in particular.

“Forgive us for the inconvenience. It seems there’s a problem with the cables. Don’t worry, it’ll be solved within the hour,” a tinny voice blurts from the speaker under the floor buttons, startling the two men.

“Aren’t the cables the things holding us up?” Liam asks, an edge of panic to his voice.

“Hey,” Zayn mutters in what he hopes is a soothing voice, “you heard them, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“You trust an unembodied staticky voice from space that has no reason to be concerned with the possibility of imminent death like we do?” Liam rants his breath away.

“Why would an alien be speaking english?”

“That’s literally not the point.”

“Babe, this building is barely ten years old,” Zayn informs the younger, far too gone with amusement and repressed anxiety to notice his slip.

Liam gives him a deadpan look. “The Titanic.”

“Point acknowledged,” Zayn concedes, “but no one ever claimed this building is unsinkable, so there’s no jinx on it.”

The boy rubs at his eyes, sighing tiredly before backing up against the wall and sliding down it, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his hands. Zayn follows his lead, sitting down next to him while maintaining a respectable distance.

“At least there’s a bright side to all of this,” Zayn says after a moment.

Liam rolls on his forehead to look at the man, barest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Which is?”

“If we die now, it won’t be to the tune of elevator music.”

The boy turns his face back into the cradle of his arms and laughs, his shoulders shaking with it. Zayn warms, watching the spectacle and feeling pretty damn good about himself considering he’s squashing down a mouthful of bile at the thought of plummeting to his death and instead making a beautiful boy laugh.

When Liam’s over his fit he turns to Zayn again. “Twenty questions?” he offers.

The older man snorts. “Is this a sleepover?”

Liam’s smile grows. “It’s either that or we nap for an hour, and I don’t think my anxiety is gonna let me do that,” he shrugs.

“Same,” Zayn sighs. “You can go first.”

Liam nods, crossing his legs in front of him and scooting so he’s facing Zayn rather than sitting next to him. “Cats or dogs?” he asks seriously.

“You’ve got an infinite amount of questions and that’s what you go for?”

“It’s important.”

“Dogs,” Zayn answers finally. “You?”

“Dogs,” Liam repeats, smiling toothily. “You can ask another, since that was the same question.”

“Okay. Star Trek or Star Wars?”

“Star Wars,” the boy says firmly, endearing Zayn with how seriously he’s taking their game. “Only because I haven’t seen all of Star Trek. Batman or Spiderman?”

“Batman,” Zayn says immediately. “Tobey Maguire’s Peter Parker or Andrew Garfield’s?”

Liam makes a noise of distress, just like Zayn would if the question was directed at himself. “Like, we all know Tobey’s movies went downhill real fast, but also? I don’t feel like Garfield’s movies were like, outstanding enough to justify the remake, you know?”

“Yes,” Zayn exclaims. “And Uncle Ben’s death in the newer ones?”

“Criminal!”

“Absolutely fucking awful. Probably the biggest reason I can’t get behind the series as a whole, if I’m bein’ honest.”

The boy doesn’t reply, making Zayn glance at him. Liam’s watching him closely, smiling almost fondly.

“What?” Zayn demands, feeling the urge to draw in on himself and hide like he’s in highschool again.

“Nothin’, nothin’,” Liam shakes his head and looks away. “It’s just.”

“Just what?” Zayn probes.

Liam meets his gaze again, smile never dimming as he asks “You’re a big fucking geek, aren’t you?”

Zayn’s smile is unbidden and uncontrollable. “Takes one to know one, don’t it?”

They go on like this for a while, trading ridiculous questions and never once lying about the answer. The topics range from favorite movie to biggest fear to a heated pancake versus waffle debate, which Zayn lets Liam win. He finds out that apart from working at Bus1, Liam has two other jobs as a mechanic and a barista.

“I love my parents, and they’d do practically anything for me, but I need to work for what I’ve got, you know?” he explains.

Zayn does know, and he also knows how hard it is, living with that kind of mentality where it’s hard to ask for help even when you desperately need it. “I get it. But promise me that if you ever need anything you’ll ask. Me, like, you’ll ask me.”

Liam flushes, but smiles smally. “You tell all your interns that, or am I just special?” he cheeks.

“A company is only as strong as it’s underpaid, unappreciated members,” Zayn says.

“Underpaid?” Liam laughs. “You realize it’s an _un_ paid internship, right?”

“Right,” Zayn utters, tamping down the guilty feeling in his gut.

Liam’s unbothered though, and cracks his neck before checking the time on his phone. “It should be up and running again soon,” he informs the other man. “You’ve got two questions left, wanna use them now or later?”

Zayn stalls for a while before asking the question he already knows the answer to. “How old are you?”

“I’ll be twenty at the end of August,” Liam tells him somewhat defensively.

Zayn closes his eyes and breathes heavily through his nose, heart plummeting at the confirmation.

“Why?” Liam prys.

“Doesn’t matter,” Zayn mutters, rising to his feet and turning his back to the boy who’s also standing up.

“It kind of does, if it makes you look away from me like that,” Liam says quietly. Zayn can feel him come up behind his shoulder, heat radiating off him, making it impossible to not turn into the boy’s presence.

They’re standing toe to toe now, eyes lidded and breathing stilted.

“I’ve got a question left,” Liam whispers, his face so near Zayn’s own that he can feel his breath.

“You wanna know how old I am?” Zayn snarks quietly, grin a sort of self-depreciating.

The boy bites his bottom lip and shakes his head slowly. “I wanna know if I’m reading this wrong,” he prompts.

Zayn stares down at him, knowing in that moment he’d never be able to deny the boy anything, ever. So when Liam pushes up on his toes and kisses him, all Zayn can do is hold on.

It’s like all the air is sucked out of the elevator the moment their lips touch, it only takes a few seconds for both of them to start panting. Zayn lets Liam breathe and goes for the boy’s neck, latching on like a man starved.

Liam gasps and his hands fly up to Zayn’s biceps, and Zayn leans in further, sliding a leg between Liam’s slim thighs, feeling the boy grow hard against his hip. He traces his tongue over the mark he’s sucked onto Liam’s skin and makes him shiver, his fingers digging into Zayn’s arms to keep him close instead of pushing him away like they both know he should. Zayn trails his lips across the firm outline of Liam’s jaw, pulling a hiss out of him when he bites the soft underside.

In an unconscious move, Zayn’s hands slide down Liam’s neck to his shoulders, pressing down lightly, and Liam drops to his knees with the silent command, the carpet barely cushioning his fall.

“Good boy,” Zayn praises, sliding his fingers into Liam’s curls.

Liam’s hands stop midway to Zayn’s belt, because the fucking tinny voice is back, telling them help will be arriving momentarily. The boy sighs dejectedly and Zayn wants to scream because a) what the fuck is he thinking and b) he’s hard as fuck.

Zayn remains frozen in place, even as Liam stands back up and the hum of the elevator kicks back on, bringing the god awful music with it. The doors ding open and Liam steps out, turning to look at the older man. “Guess you get to keep your last question for later,” he smiles and bounds away towards the cubicles as though nothing perversely wrong just transpired.

As unappealing as it is, Zayn knows what he has to do. He takes a deep breath and forces himself back into reality- a reality where someone like Liam Payne can’t possibly be his.

*

When Liam had started going through puberty, his mom had sat him down and warned him that not everyone has as kind of a heart as him and that some people are only interested in getting one thing.

It took a few years for Liam to realize what the _one thing_ was, and he still got served a few rounds of heartbreak regardless.

He knows there’s bad people in the world, he knows. He knows that there are people who prefer to fuck and forget- he’s met plenty of them.

He just didn’t expect Zayn to be one of them.

Of course, it’s not like he actually slept with Zayn, his boss, Zayn his boss. He just threw himself at the man and made it very obvious that he was up for the possibility. He got hard from a kiss, for goodness sake.

It’s been a week since the elevator incident and the older man hasn’t even acknowledged Liam’s existence.

Liam hasn’t been assigned tasks that have him in contact with the man and he’s pretty sure Zayn made it that way.

Liam’s embarrassed, and annoyed, and anxious, but most of all he’s hurt.

He’s hurt because he honestly thought they had something, him and Zayn. But now he knows he’s just another dumb kid who made a dumb kid move and made himself too available to a man who isn’t available at all.

Liam is drawn out of his self berating melancholy when Mr Horan's voice rings out among the cubicles, drawing his attention.

“Listen up, minions! The gala to celebrate newly signed artists is tomorrow night, as I’ve said in all my emails for the past week, which, by the look on most of your faces I’m going to assume you all just skim. Anyways, for some reason no one cares to reform, all interns are invited to attend. So be there, be square, and for god’s sakes, try to look like you don’t guzzle cheap beer out of a keg in your spare time- I’m looking at you, Waldo.”

The interns chatter excitedly, and Liam drowns them out. He actually did read all of Niall’s emails, and decided not to go days before. He sighs and glances at his computer monitor, relieved to see that it’s past the end of the work day. He shuffles his papers around into semi-neat stacks that he’ll deal with on Monday and grabs his things for the weekend.

He’s making a beeline for the exit when a voice calls out to him, halting him in his tracks.

“Hey, Liam, hold up!” Harry shouts, running out from behind his post with a narrow white box wrapped in a ribbon in his hand. “For you,” he pants, offering the package to Liam.

He takes it from him and Harry’s moving away before Liam can ask what it is or who it’s from. Liam holds the box up to his ear and shakes it, hoping to hear a clue as to what’s inside but is given nothing. He sighs and pushes the ribbon around until it slides down and allows Liam to take the top off.

Inside, laid on the pale pink satin lining is a narrow silk tie the color of onyx. It’s cool and soft to the touch and Liam’s almost too lost in the feel of it to notice the note placed underneath. He picks up the sticky note and deciphers the small, familiar handwriting.

_For Bruce Wayne, when Batman needs a rest._

_-Zayn_

*

Parties have never really been Zayn’s scene, whether they were of the frat or corporate variety. But it’s in his job description to make an entrance, so here he is, milling around the lobby like a goddamn socialite, shaking hands with the right people and avoiding the wrong ones.

All the while he’s keeping an eye peeled for the real source of his motivation to show up here tonight, but he hasn’t seen hide nor hare of Liam in the hour and a half he’s been here.

The crowd is getting to be a bit much for him, so Zayn excuses himself and quietly sneaks upstairs, figuring he’d rest his eyes for a bit in the comfort of his empty office.

Turns out it isn’t as empty as he originally thought it would be, and Zayn can’t honestly say he’s upset about it.

“You’re not old enough to drink,” Zayn reminds the boy somberly, standing in the doorway of his own office like a stranger.

“Your _face_ isn’t old enough to drink,” Liam retorts, barely able to lift his head to glare at Zayn from where he’s sprawled out on the couch, bottle of Niall’s whiskey held upright on his tummy.

Zayn sighs at the boy’s petulant behavior, but doesn’t chastise him for it. It’s not his place to, he reminds himself. He walks into the room, resisting the urge to be near Liam and sits in his desk chair, swiveling around so he’s facing his couch’s inebriated inhabitant.

“What’ve you got to drink about?” Zayn asks quietly. “You’re young, you’ve not had the time to acquire a reason to drink yourself stupid.”

Liam barks out a laugh. “That’s my problem right there, isn’t it? I’m _young.”_ Liam spits the word out like it’s dirty.

Zayn hesitates to speak, wary of where this might be going. “Liam-”

“‘S why you don’t want me, isn’t it?” Liam asks pitifully, chest heaving with a hiccup. “‘M too y-” _hiccup_ “youn-” _hiccup_ “not old. ‘m not old and you don’t like me enough to ignore that,” he mumbles, picking at the label on the bottle of whiskey.

Zayn remains quiet for another moment before whispering, “Of course I like you.”

Liam sniffles. “Not enough, though.”

“Too much,” Zayn corrects.

Liam quits his ministrations and lolls his head to the side so he can peer at Zayn, his eyes large and sad. “I kissed you,” he tells Zayn.

The older man smiles. “I know. I was there, remember?”

Liam narrows his gaze. “You kissed me back,” he says, his tone accusatory.

Zayn breaks their eye contact and puts his elbows on his knees and stares down at the floor. “I know.” He hears Liam sniffle again before the couch squeaks and the boy is sitting up, movements smoother than his current level of intoxication should allow, dropping the bottle on the carpet with a quiet thump.

“You kissed me back,” Liam repeats, the mourning in his voice replaced by determination.

“I know,” Zayn whispers again, mind already preparing for another round of self beration. He doesn’t go through with it, however, because he’s knocked off balance by a pillow smacking into the top of his head, a treatment he’s become accustomed to these past few weeks.

His eyes find Liam’s, who looks stunning even in this low lighting in his knock-off suit that’s been rumpled to hell. Zayn notices he’d taken off his blazer, discarding the garment at the other end of the couch, but is still wearing the tie Zayn gave him. It makes a tendril of warmth curl in Zayn’s gut.

“You kissed me back because you like me,” Liam states firmly, his eyes stealing Zayn’s attention away from his chest.

Zayn nods dumbly in reply, the sight and state of the boy across the way rendering him useless to do much else.

“You like me,” Liam says, more to himself than to Zayn. Something in his eyes hardens, resolves. He shoots up from the couch and marches towards the chair Zayn’s sitting in. He makes it nearly all the way before he trips, going down in an anticlimactic blaze of flailing limbs and an unintelligible yelp.

Zayn doesn’t take time to laugh at the scene before he’s kneeling down beside the boy, turning him over and brushing his hair away from his blushing face.

“You alright?” Zayn asks him, doing his best to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Pretend that didn’t just happen and I will be,” Liam mumbles, shrinking away from Zayn’s gentle touch like he’s trying to melt into the floor and disappear.

Zayn smiles. “Done and done,” he promises, sliding a hand under Liam’s shoulder to nudge him into a sitting position.

Liam grasps at Zayn’s arms somewhat desperately and leans in. It’s not until Zayn feels the warmth of Liam’s breath ghosting over his lips that he registers what’s happening and jerks away from the boy.

He has to stop himself from backtracking when he sees the hurt expression taking over Liam’s face, taking Zayn’s self control as rejection. He tries reaching out to him, to regain their previous closeness, but Liam’s shaking his head and discreetly wiping at his eyes before pushing himself to his feet.

Liam’s already wobbly stance is threatened when Zayn snatches his hand and using his grip to keep the boy in place as he stands up. Liam refuses to meet Zayn’s eyes, his head turned far enough that Zayn can only catch a glimpse of his cheek, stained a warm, incriminating red.

“Lemme go,” Liam mumbles, feebly tugging at his captured hand.

“Listen first,” Zayn pleads. He takes the boy’s silence as a cue to continue. “I didn’t turn away because I- because I didn’t want you, we just. We need to _talk,_ Liam.”

Liam finally shrugs out of Zayn’s grip and turns to face him. “So talk,” he implores, but Zayn shakes his head.

“Not here. Not while you’re like this.”

Liam’s look towards him might’ve been a glare if it weren’t so _tired._ It has Zayn reaching out without thinking, hand coming to rest on Liam’s still warm cheek, thumb brushing the bruised bags under his eye.

“Let me take you home,” he begs softly. Liam nods, unconsciously leaning into Zayn’s touch, though it may be partly due to his exhaustion.

Zayn gathers his and Liam’s things and walks them down to his car, mentally thanking his driver for not going beyond a raised eyebrow when Zayn eases the boy into the backseat.

Liam is drifting along the edge of sleep throughout the entire ride, so Zayn doesn’t feel too bad when he lets the boy tuck into his side. Waking him up when they reach the apartment building is one of the hardest things Zayn’s ever had to bring himself to do. He half carries the drunk, sleepy boy across the lobby and into the elevator, having to lean him against a wall as he fishes out his keys.

They both nearly trip on the way to Zayn’s bedroom, making Liam grumble irritably which in turn makes Zayn give a quiet laugh. Zayn deposits Liam on the bed as gently as he can and grabs a quilt from the linen closet after swiftly dismissing the idea of undressing him.

He tiptoes over to the window and pulls the curtain shut so the sun wouldn’t add to Liam’s guaranteed hangover when it rises.

He’s making his way towards the bedroom door when he hears it, said so softly that if he were any farther away he’d miss it.

“Thank you, daddy.”

Zayn nearly trips over his own feet only just catching himself on the edge of the chest at the foot of the bed. He finds Liam’s face in the dark, trying to gauge whether or not he misheard, but the boy is already out, snoring softly with his hair fanned out across Zayn’s pillow.

He doesn’t start breathing properly until he’s in the kitchen, finding purchase on the onyx countertops.

 _Okay,_ he thinks, trying to make the voice inside his head sound calm. _So that happened_.

Thinking is hard, though. Especially since every time he blinks he sees an imprint of Liam tucked into his bed like he fucking belongs there, calling Zayn _daddy_ on his eyelids.

Zayn releases a shaky breath and turned his back to the counter, sagging against it. He rubs a hand down his face, torn apart by the emotional exhaustion the night has caused him and the burst of adrenaline Liam’s slip of tongue gave him. He somehow makes it to the living room and topples head first over the arm of the couch. It takes less than a minute for his brain to shut off and put him to sleep, face down with half his legs still dangling over the side, image of Liam still fresh in his mind.

*

Zayn wakes up to light flooding the apartment and a weight on top of him.

He must have moved in his sleep because now he’s on his back and the weight on top of him is solid. Solid, but moving. There’s hands moving under his shirt, smoothing out tense muscles, thighs caging his hips and hair tickling his chest.

Zayn lays there for another moment trying to get his bearings and forcing himself to comprehend what’s going on and oh _god_ it’s Liam that’s straddling him at the asscrack of dawn completely devoid of clothes save a crisp white dress shirt Zayn recognizes as his own.

An unapproved groan slips from Zayn’s mouth and Liam’s head is bowed far enough that he can practically feel the hitch in the boy’s breath.

The hitch soon turns into panting as Liam starts to jerk his hips in little circles, making Zayn aware of how hard they both were, how bare Liam was under the shirt.

Liam’s warm hands pressed hard against his chest, palms digging in just below Zayn’s collarbone. It was hot under the boy, his skin burning at every point of contact between them, sticky and sweaty and so good, and Zayn shudders as the heat slips through his veins, coils tighter in his belly. He brings his hands up to grip Liam’s sides, making him grind harder and faster until the boy is dropping his head into the crook of Zayn’s neck, panting hard just below his ear and whispering a pleading _daddy-_

When Zayn really wakes up, it’s to the smell of toast and eggs and the sound of clinking dishes under running water. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and gets his bearings, realizing he’s still in his suit and slumped over the couch.

The only thing that about his position that’s different from when he nodded off is the blanket that’s thrown over his back. He curls his fingers around one of the corners and brings it to eye level, staring at it confusedly.

It’s not until he hears the soft hum of a melody over the sound of the sink that the events of the previous night come through.

Liam wearing the tie. Liam drinking in his office. Liam calling him _daddy._

Fuck.

He feels his face flush at the combined memories from last night and his dream.

He tries to be smooth about getting up but his feet get tangled up in the blanket and he falls off the couch ass first, the sound of his failure drawing the attention of the boy in the kitchen.

Liam runs into the living room, skillet in one hand, spatula in the other. “You alright?” He seems genuinely concerned for Zayn’s ass.

Zayn nods and shakes the blanket off his feet so he can stand. “How’re you feeling?” he asks, searching the boy’s face for any signs of a hangover. He’s a bit flushed, though that could be due to recent embarrassment, but he looks fine other wise.

“I’m good,” Liam insists, turning back to the kitchen in hopes of hiding his increasing blush. “You know, apart from the crippling embarrassment and full bodied shame.”

Zayn laughs under his breath and follows him. “I’ve seen worse,” he assures him.

“Oh yea?” Liam scoffs unbelievably.

“I’ve been clubbing with Harry.”

That gets a laugh out of the boy, and Zayn feels a little less shitty about having dreamt about what his thighs would look like around Zayn’s waist.

Anyways.

“You can help yourself,” Liam tells him, motioning to the pan he’s set back down on the stove and the plate stacked with buttered toast. “Figured it’s the least I could do after what I put you through last night.”

Zayn doesn’t agree or disagree with him, but after he loads a plate and gestures for Liam to join him at the table he asks, “How much do you remember?”

Liam lowers his head, which does nothing to hide his flaming cheeks and the way he’s gnawing on his lip. “All of it,” he whispers, his body language screaming shame and regret.

“My office?” Liam nods meekly. “The car ride?” Another nod. Zayn ducks his head, trying to catch the boy’s eyes and lowers his voice. “Do you remember what you said before you fell asleep? What you called me?”

“I’m sorry!” Liam blurts, tearing his gaze from the tabletop and Zayn can see the tears building in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to, honest! It’s just that you were so nice and caring and good at taking care of me- it slipped out. I know it’s weird and gross and I shouldn’t have put you in that situation but I was tired and drunk-”

“Holy shit, baby, _breathe,”_ Zayn orders, worried that Liam might actually pass out.

“I’m _sorry,”_ Liam cries, voice wavering.

“Hey,” Zayn soothes, coming around the table to kneel in front of the boy. He pulls Liam’s hands away from his eyes so he can look into them. “It’s okay, _you’re_ okay. It’s not weird or gross and I’m not upset with you. Understand?

Liam nods, biting on his lip to keep it from quivering.

“I’m gonna go shower, and when I’m done we’ll have that talk I promised you, okay?”

The boy nods again, and Zayn is reluctant to leave him alone in that state.

He showers quickly and gets dressed even quicker, eager to finally untangle the mess that’s been tripping him up for weeks.

The dishes from breakfast are cleaned and drying in the sink, not a mess in sight. Not a Liam in sight, either.

He’s gone, unannounced and unexplained.

Zayn gets back in the shower.

*

Liam doesn’t meet him in the elevator on Monday morning.

*

“One venti sugar free caramel macchiato, extra hot.”

Despite the fact that it’s nine in the morning and disgustingly humid outside, customer smiles brightly back at Liam and slips a fiver into the tip jar before snatching their much needed dose of caffeine out of the boy’s hand.

“Have a nice day!” Liam calls after them, refusing to tamper down his smile as he looks around the bustling shop filled with bored kids and tired adults. He takes the next person’s order and shouts it over his shoulder to one of his coworkers.

He faces front to inform the customer that their drink may take a while and to please wait a little to the right but it seems that particular customer is a veteran because they’ve already moved, and revealed the person behind them.

“Tea, black as my soul,” Louis tells him, smiling the little malicious smile Zayn had one time warned him of.

Liam nods wordlessly and asks Sharon to take over the register while he makes the order himself. He feels Louis’s eye tracking his every move. He takes back his post and slides the cup across the counter, eyes studiously avoiding the man’s.

Louis is Louis, though, and he refuses to be denied attention. “When’s your break?” he demands, not touching the tea until Liam gives him an answer.

The younger man sighs, knowing when he’s beat and gives in. “Fifteen minutes.”

Louis nods, then takes his tea and steps towards the tables. “I’ll be waiting.”

Fifteen minutes later Liam is pulling at the strings of his apron and removing his cap. He shakes his freed hair and trudges towards the table Louis’s set himself up at. The man has finished his tea and has taken to people watching, simultaneously looking bored and fascinated.

The chair scrapes on the linoleum when Liam pulls it out, but Louis doesn’t spare him a glance. Liam sits there, shifting uncomfortably, wondering if they’re actually going to speak before his break is over.

“Nice job with the tea,” Louis finally says.

“Thanks,” Liam murmurs, suddenly wishing the man had stayed silent and spared them both the added awkwardness.

Louis doesn’t look awkward, though. Even sitting there in his tailored suit surrounded by people in skinny jeans and beanies, he looks like he fits. It’s a quality Liam finds himself jealous of.

“Right,” Louis taps the tabletop and stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”

Liam stares up at him with a furrowed brow. “You will?”

“Bright and early,” Louis nods. “Don’t be late.”

He starts for the door, and Liam’s mind doesn’t catch up to the situation until Louis is getting into his car. Liam jumps out of his chair, vaguely registering the sound of it clattering to the floor as he hurries outside and literally runs into Louis’s dark town car. The man rolls down the window and stares at Liam like he’s cracked. “Yes?”

“I quit,” Liam reminds him, palms laid flat on the heated metal on either side of the open window.

Louis lifts a brow. “I saw.”

“So- so I don’t work for you anymore?” Liam says, voice pitching at the end because a) he’s not really sure what’s happening and b) Louis still scares him.

Louis gives him a considering hum, then shakes his head and waves his hand dismissively. “Nah.”

“I. Nah?”

“Yea, as in, nah, I don’t accept it,” Louis clarifies.

“You don’t accept my resignation,” Liam deadpans.

“No, I don’t,” Louis smiles. He tells the driver to go but Liam shouts for him to wait. Louis’s smile dims and his expression begins to close off, leaving his face blank as he stares Liam down. “Do you love music, Mr Payne?”

A confused noise comes from Liam’s throat before he answers, “Yeah.”

“Do you love _him?”_

Liam startles, shocked by the question but even more shocked that Louis asked it. He’s surprised, but not conflicted, which shows in the way his voice is clear and firm when he says, “Yes.”

Louis nods and gives Liam a small, nonthreatening smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he reiterates, then he’s driving away leaving Liam stranded on the sidewalk with nothing to do but stare after him.

*

Zayn stabs the form laid out in front of him, begging the pen to work. He’s at the last section and it’d take him a maximum of five minutes to fill it out if the pen would just fucking _work._ He could’ve completed it electronically an hour ago but his computer died and then froze when he tried to recharge it and it’s just been a very long day- scratch that, it’s been a very long _week_ and he just wants the pen to work.

He’s just about ready to throw the fucking thing across the room when there’s a soft knock at his office door. He lowers his arm and takes a deep breath, trying to regain at least a little bit of composure. “Come in,” he calls, wincing at how downtrodden his voice sounds.

The door cracks open and the reason behind is god awful week slips in, closing the door behind him with a quiet _snick._

“Hi,” Liam smiles, cheap shirt and wrinkled chinos doing nothing to derail how good he looks.

Zayn stares at him like a man starved, mouth agape like it’s trying to form words but they just won’t come, like blocked ink in a broken pen.

He finds a tentative, cracked version of his voice. “Liam, I-”

“Don’t,” Liam says quickly, though not unkindly. Never unkindly. He walks forward until the only space between them is the area occupied by Zayn’s desk. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Liam states, maintaining eye contact and looking determined as Zayn’s ever seen him, “I’m going to see my internship through to the end. It’s not in me to give up something that I want,” he adds pointedly. Zayn inhales sharply, something akin to hope threatening to bloom in his chest, but Liam goes on. “While I’m working, the only relationship we’re going to have is a professional one. You’ll be my boss, and that’s it.”

Zayn’s budding flower of optimism wilts at Liam’s words. He breaks their eye contact but nods dejectedly to show he understands.

“The internship ends the day after my birthday,” Liam continues. “If by some miracle you haven’t lost interest in me by then, I’ll meet you on the bridge in the park at eight.”

Zayn snaps his gaze back up to meet Liam’s and sees the damn boy smiling like he didn’t just stomp Zayn’s heart into the dirt then clean it off.

“Eight sounds good,” he says.

Liam gives him one last tentative smile before walking back out the door, leaving Zayn alone again, but this time without the crushing sense of hurt.

He picks up the phone, fingers unconsciously punching in the numbers.

“If you’re going to yell at me again, just hang up,” Harry tells him seriously.

Zayn laughs for the first time in a week. “Actually, I need to schedule a date.”

*

Liam’s ninety percent sure he looks like a goober.

He’s ninetynine percent sure he has no reason to look like a goober.

For the past two months, Zayn’s respected Liam’s wish for them to maintain a respectable distance whilst he finishes his internship at Bus1. Zayn hasn’t talked to him about anything other than business, hasn’t addressed him as anything other than _Mr Payne_ , hasn’t slipped him any cute sticky notes or gifts. Zayn didn’t even send him a happy birthday text, though Liam cautiously hoped for one.

Also, their distant relationship has left Liam without an inkling as to whether or not Zayn still wants him.

It’s ten to eight and Liam’s standing on a bridge like a loser, waiting for a man who isn’t interested in him to meet him for a date that’s not going to happen. He feels like the kid whose birthday party no one showed up to.

He sighs and pulls at the knot of his tie, fingers handling the smooth fabric gently. He leaves it laid untied around his neck and stalks to the door, praying the campus cafeteria is still open. It’s probably not, so it’s a really good thing that he turns to find Zayn standing on the bank, one hand hidden behind his back and a brilliant smile on his face.

Liam stares at him, and then past him to make sure Ashton Kutcher isn’t lurking down the way with a camera.

Zayn follows his eyesight bemusedly. “Expecting another man with flowers to show up in the middle of nowhere and ask you out?” he asks with a grin.

“Flowers?” is all Liam can manage.

Zayn takes the bouquet of blood red roses out from behind his back, giving Liam something else to stare at. He looks from the flowers to Zayn, then back to the flowers for a long moment before he meets the man’s eyes and smiles.

Zayn mirrors his expression and holds out his free hand, which Liam takes as a cue. He grabs hold of the railing and hauls himself over it, landing in front of Zayn on unsteady feet. Zayn stills him with a free hand to Liam’s bicep.

“Well,” Liam prompts the man, “get on with it.”

Zayn furrows his brow but his smile remains. “Get on with what?”

Liam’s own smile widens and he steps closer. Zayn slides the hand that’s on the boy’s arm down to his waist.

“You’ve got one question left,” Liam reminds him.

Zayn leans in until he’s sure the boy can feel him smiling against his lips. “Liam Payne, would you do me the utmost honor and allow me to wine and dine you?”

He gets a kiss as an answer and accepts it gratefully, reveling in the long awaited end of the drought.

"Is that a yes?" Zayn murmurs against his mouth, tongue teasing the words onto his lips. Liam nods vehemently and pulls Zayn back to him, opening his mouth just enough to feel the tip of Zayn’s tongue slide against his. He sighs at the contact and opens further, letting the kiss deepen into something wet and hot and hungry, tongues sweeping over soft surfaces, tasting and exploring. He whimpers when Zayn pulls back again.

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” the older man says with his hand rubbing soothingly over Liam’s clothed hip, “I actually do have plans for us tonight that like, don’t take place in the bedroom. And they require clothes.”

Liam sighs. “If you insist,” he drawls.

“I apologize for my romantic tendencies,” Zayn grins. “I promise to make you come so hard you can’t move for an hour, later.”

“Only an hour?”

“Hold my fucking hand.”

*

Zayn stumbles into the apartment with a cuss and tosses the key into the glass dish by the door, where the spare is already sitting. He smiles and starts searching the dark rooms, cautiously avoiding shadows that look solid.

He finds what he’s looking for on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with a bowl of cereal, watching some shitty reality show Zayn can’t put a name to.

“Don’t do it,” Liam tells the tv loudly, “you know she’s gonna beat your a- what did I tell you!”

A fist fight breaks out on the show but Zayn’s attention is focused solely on the audience. He watches his boyfriend shake his head like a condescending mother muttering, “Should’ve listened to me,”  through a mouthful of frosted flakes and Zayn smiles, feeling fond. Disgusted, but fond.

He sneaks up to the back of the couch and leans down till his breath is ghosting over Liam’s ear. “Have a good day?” he murmurs.

Liam hums, leaning back into Zayn’s touch whilst keeping his eyes on the television. “Petted puppies at the mall,” he informs his boyfriend.

“No,” Zayn answers the question Liam didn’t ask.

“Why not?” Liam whines with what Zayn would call a pout even though it’s _not._ “You love dogs.”

“Because I work six days a week and you’ve got school,” Zayn reminds him gently, winding his arms around his shoulders and nosing into his curls.

“I’ll wear you down soon enough,” Liam says confidently.

“I don’t doubt it, babe,” Zayn smiles.

Liam lets himself be touched for a moment longer, reveling in the warmth emanating from Zayn’s hands as they smooth over his bare torso before breaking away from the contact and hopping off the couch. He ignores Zayn’s cry of protest and walks to the bathroom, locking himself in.

Zayn doesn’t attempt approaching him again until the he’s in the shower, singing softly to himself. He hears an attempt on the handle and Zayn scoff when he finds it locked.

“Baby,” Zayn calls through the door, “why don’t you let me in, huh? To conserve water.”

Liam snorts but doesn’t reply, using Zayn’s shampoo to wash his hair. He continues to ignore Zayn’s goading for the rest of his shower, forcing himself to hide his smile when he walks out of the bathroom, little towel wrapped around his waist.

Zayn watches him disappear into their bedroom from his place beside the bathroom door, glaring at the sway of the boy’s hips. He follows him in and is greeted with the sight of Liam’s naked backside and he just _knows_ it’s gonna be a long night.

Liam ignores his presence and continues drying off in front of the mirror, tilting his head enticingly to get at the water droplets from his hair. Zayn stalks up behind him and winds his arms around the boy’s middle, placing pleading little kisses across his shoulder blades. “I could help with that, you know.”

“Hmm,” Liam muses, “no thanks.” He steps out of Zayn’s hold and pushes the wet towel into his hands then hops into bed, sliding under the covers and turning his back to the man.

Zayn stares blankly at the towel for a moment before dropping on the floor and crawling next to his boyfriend. He cages Liam in with his thighs, making the boy huff and lay on his back. “Can I help you?” he asks.

Zayn leans in and steals a kiss, rubbing his hands up and down Liam’s sides slowly. “I think we can help each other,” he amends.

Liam raises a brow. “Is that so?”

The older man steals another kiss and hums into the boy’s skin. “Mhmm. Let’s talk about what I want, then we can talk about what you want,” he offers in a low voice.

“Are you proposing you pay for sex with me via a puppy?” Liam smirks.

Zayn grins at that, letting Liam’s hands move to unbutton his shirt. “No,” he denies. “I’m proposing that we have sex because we both want to, then we talk about adopting a puppy because we both want to.”

Liam pushes Zayn’s shirt off his shoulders and firmly tells him, “I will be naming it something extremely nerdy and you’re gonna have to deal with that.” then flips their positions and swallows Zayn’s noise of surprise with a kiss.

"Fucking christ, Liam," Zayn swears lowly, unable to stop himself. "Gotta get my pants off if you want this to go anywhere,” he tells the boy softly, rubbing at the smooth skin of his inner thigh.

Liam smirks in a way that’s far too nefarious for someone so sweet and slithers down until his head is level with Zayn’s stomach, his hands coming up to work at his belt. He gets it undone with little effort and tugs down Zayn’s pants till the man can kick them the rest of the way off.

Zayn cards his fingers in Liam’s hair, tugging purposefully at the curls. “C’mon, baby,” he spurs, “be sweet for daddy, open up.”

The boy bites his lip and stares up at Zayn coyly, keeping their eyes locked as he goes down, wrapping his lips around the head, gently tonguing the underside. Zayn moans and uses his grip on Liam’s hair to push him down further, then bringing him back up, guiding the boy into a rhythm for a good minute before Zayn pulled him off his cock and yanked him up to eye level before reversing their position again.

Zayn leans down and rubs his lips across Liam’s cheek. “Hands and knees, baby,” he murmurs, accentuating the order with a kiss on the soft spot below the boy’s ear.

Liam’s breath hitches and he twists under Zayn, knocking into him in his rush to comply.

“Whoa, there,” Zayn laughs, enjoying the full bodied flush Liam’s wearing. He runs his hands over the boy’s back leisurely. “Eager, are we?” He hears Liam huff, watches him bow his back and present himself.

“Christ,” Zayn breathes when he sees just what Liam’s so eager to show him. The boy is already wet and open and ready and _that’s_ why he was taking so long in the shower.

Zayn rests his forehead on Liam’s back, trying to reign himself in. He doesn’t really want to come before he gets inside his boyfriend. It’d be rude, considering the effort Liam put in.

“No idea what you do to me, babe,” Zayn whispers, knowing Liam hears him anyway. “No fucking idea.”

“Show me,” Liam croaks, voice raw and wrecked from earlier.

“Yea?” Zayn practically purrs. “Gonna let me fuck you?”

“Not if you don’t quit stalling,” Liam warns.

Zayn smiles against the skin of Liam’s lower back and kisses the dimples there. He stops playing for time and rummages in the bedside drawer for a condom. He kneels behind the younger man, not wasting another second before he’s sinking into Liam, groaning at the tight heat.

He knows they’re both way too keyed up for slow or gentle tonight, so he draws back and snaps his hips against Liam’s ass, grabbing handfuls of it to squeeze as he fucks into him with abandon.

Liam takes it all like the good boy he is, crying out and clawing at the bedsheets. Zayn sees Liam sneak a hand under his tummy, his body getting even more tense as he gets himself off.

Zayn slaps his hand away and grabs it, yanking it behind his back and pinning it there. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” Zayn asks dangerously, punctuating his question with a hard thrust that has biting his forearm to stifle the noises threatening to come out. He watches Liam shake his head, his usually neat and styled hair becoming progressively messier. Liam angles his hips up more, and Zayn takes that as an apology.

“You’re so fucking greedy,” Zayn growls, using his free hand to grip Liam’s hip and pull him back to meet his thrusts. “Spoiled, too,” he adds, voice going low and breathy. “Letting me fuck you so you can get what you want?”

“Yea,” Liam moans, not caring that the question was probably rhetoric.

“Lucky you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, huh? Love giving you what you want, love spoiling you, spoiling my baby.”

Liam can already tell his ass’ll be bruised by morning, and he accepts the treatment gratefully, mumbling incoherent strings of words that are meant to be thank you’s and more’s and I love you’s. His eyes are squeezed shut as the arousal builds until he comes without being touched, his vision whiting out for a second. His body tenses as he screams his release, dragging Zayn along for the ride.

Zayn grits his teeth as he tries to hold on as long as possible, but Liam’s body is clenching around him like a vice and he spills in the condom for what seems like forever, mind blank except for an endless loop of _Liam Liam Liam_.

Liam tugs his captured hand out from Zayn’s grasp and falls flat on the bed, spent and content. Zayn rolls out of the bed to flush the filled condom so his housekeeper doesn’t have to deal with it and both the men can maybe start to look her in the eye again.

He returns to the bed and finds Liam has made his way under the covers again, hair fanned out across the pillow. The image is both eerily similar and completely different from the first time he experienced it. The then and now of the situation pushes a smile onto Zayn’s face, which Liam narrows his eyes at.

“Smug or reminiscent?” the boy asks.

“A little bit of both, I suppose,” Zayn answers as he climbs under the covers next to his boyfriend, smiling when Liam immediately latches onto him, wrapping around his body like a spider monkey.

They lay there, the apartment silent save for the low hum of the tv out in the living room. Liam’s just about to fall into sleep’s awaiting arms when Zayn breaks the silence.

“Hey,” he whispers, “I love you.”

He might not be able to see Liam’s face, but he can tell he’s smiling. “I know.”

“Also,” Zayn adds.

“Hm?”

“The office needs new carpet.”

**Author's Note:**

> idk im just here for gentle dom zayn  
> 


End file.
